Not Always Right
by CrystallicSky
Summary: The customer is NOT always right; in fact, sometimes he's downright in need of a butt-whooping. CHACK, ONESHOT


**Not Always Right**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.**

**Warnings: Language, sexual implication, implied violence, homosexuality, etc.**

Jack found himself yawning loudly all of a sudden, slumping tiredly to the white cloth-covered table of the Italian restaurant he currently resided in.

His exhaustion was the result of his very tiresome 9-5 as an IT consultant, often leaving him tired, headache-ridden, and utterly hopeless for the fate of humanity.

In fact, he'd once gotten a phone call from a disgruntled customer angrily demanding a full refund for her internet services because her pet toad (who had apparently escaped and snuck back into his tank afterwards with no evidence of having done so) had managed to unplug her computer and plug it into a second power strip not connected to an outlet, which caused her to waste two hours on the phone with a different consultant in trying to fix the problem. Jack realized with a disturbing clarity that this woman had been too stupid to realize that her computer was plugged into the wrong thing over the period of time it took to acknowledge that it wasn't working and to finish a two-hour call with a consultant, had chosen to blame this on an animal who _could not_ have done it for lack of opposable thumbs, and believed she deserved _money_ from the company who'd provided her internet simply because she was _that_ stupid.

From there, it was but a short leap to realize how goddamn _easy_ it would be to take over the world with even a _few_ people of that low an intellect living on it.

He hadn't acted on that…at least not yet. Maybe in a couple of years when he would have better resources and the globe would be so completely fucked on all fronts that they'd be _desperate_ for a dictator to step in and fix up their mess.

Hmm…Jack Spicer, Prince of Darkness, Dictator of Earth…_God_, that sounded good…

Abruptly, a plate appeared upon the table before him bearing a mouth-watering order of gnocchi (made even _more_ appetizing by the fact that he'd missed breakfast that morning and his superior, Leonard "Lenin" Donaldson had threatened to have him fired if he took a break for lunch that day) and his eyes locked onto the hand that had placed it there; following the limb it was attached to, encased in a starch white sleeve, up to the broad shoulder it stemmed from. The pitch black vest of the restaurant uniform then caught his crimson gaze, leading him from a masculine chest up to the Adam's apple clearly belonging to a perfect specimen of strong, virile male before finally, he reached that amazingly _gorgeous_ face that he could _never_ get enough of looking at.

"Chase," he greeted the man standing before him with an affectionate smile, "what's with the gnocchi?"

"I could hear your stomach growling from back in the kitchen," the waiter teased but with a good-natured grin. "Besides, if you insist upon waiting for my shift to be over to go home, the least I can do is see to it that you eat _something_."

Jack's mood brightened at the gesture and he obligingly took a bite of the food that'd been brought to him, the thought of having something in his belly for the first time all day causing him to salivate desirously. "Won't you get in trouble for this?" he inquired around the delicious mouthful. "I don't have any money on me to pay for this…"

"Don't worry about it," Chase assured him. "I can easily cover any expenses of keeping my lover properly fed while he visits me at work."

In all actuality, Chase did not _need_ this job. The man was _loaded_, the Young family well-known for their possession of old money; money that they'd had for centuries and _would_ have for centuries to come no matter _what_ sort of lavish spending the current possessor chose to do.

Chase, who was the _only_ possessor of the Young fortune with no siblings and long deceased parents along with a conservative nature that kept him from the most extravagant sort of purchasing, was pretty much financially set for life.

The only reason he _had_ a job was for the work experience; for the novelty and the ability to say he'd done it in the unlikely event he ever lost his vast wealth and had to get an actual job for income. In the case of said event, Chase's résumé boasted an impressive range of eight or nine different career fields, all of which he had left with an outstanding record and endless praise from his superiors.

Regardless, his current occupation was as a waiter at a five-star Italian restaurant on a relatively slow night, on his break, and with the other diners being taken care of by his coworkers, thus giving him an opportunity to socialize a bit with his boyfriend.

That in mind, the dark-haired man pulled out a chair across from Jack and took a seat, watching the lovely albino youth eat. "So, Spicer," he began, "how was _your_ day at work? The usual Hell?"

The goth nodded and swallowed his mouthful of food before speaking, "Fuckin' Lenin, man...such a _dick_."

Unsurprised, the waiter inquired, "And what did the General Secretary of the Communist Party do to you today?"

"Pfft," Jack scoffed, "the usual shit. Tried to take my lunch break and he said he'd see me fired if I did 'cause we were too busy to lose a consultant for even fifteen minutes; _nobody's_ phones were ringing. He's such an asstard."

"Yet another violation of your set working conditions," Chase pointed out, idly propping his cheek in his hand. "How many does that bring him to, now?"

"Two-hundred-and-ninety-eight if you count the time last week when he decided to dock my pay for this month to well-below the minimum wage for not satisfying a customer who wanted a deal our competitor was offering and I refused to give it because we don't _do_ price-matching," the young man informed.

Chase smirked a very dark smirk. "Good," he practically purred in pleasure, "only two more violations with documented evidence before you've got the round three-hundred you wanted to take him to court with."

"Oh, God, _yes_," Jack grinned happily, "I'm gonna sue his ass for everything he's got and _then_ some! If he ever gets a job again after this case gets him fired, I'll be getting his paycheck for _at least_ twenty years!"

A large hand reached across the table to take a smaller, white one in its grasp. "Mm, and then you can retire and be my trophy husband for as long as you wish and never have to work a day in your life _ever_ again..."

Jack _loved_ the idea of being Chase's 'trophy husband' for the rest of his days with every fiber of his being and agreed, "Sounds great," before leaning just a bit over the table, reaching for his lover's lips.

As it figured, luck would not have the couple kissing at that moment.

_"WAITER!"_ a patron screamed obnoxiously loud considering the fact that his table was a mere yard away. "Stop fagging and do your goddamn job!"

Chase frowned at the lack of discretion and abundance of rudeness as he calmly informed, "I apologize for the confusion, sir, but I am on my break. I'm under no obligation to do my job for another twenty minutes."

"I don't _care_," the man growled at him, "just get over here and do your job!"

The waiter could feel his lover glaring harshly at the patron and squeezed the albino's hand reassuringly in his own. Jack had no self-defense skills to speak of, but he _did_ carry a rather supped-up taser on him at all times, and Chase was very much in favor of avoiding a conflict if possible.

Politely and with absolutely nothing but courtesy in his tone, the man pointed out to the patron, "Sir, I saw my coworker, Angela, already take your order not five minutes ago."

"I changed my mind," the customer asserted. "I want something different now."

Chase stood from his chair. "Very well, sir. I'll go back into the kitchen and ask the chef to cancel your order and send Angela back out to retake-"

"No!" the man exclaimed angrily. "I want _you_ to take my order and you're gonna damn well _do_ it!"

The waiter frowned again but, seeing that this man could not be reasoned with, dutifully walked the three feet to the table, removing his pen and notepad from his pocket. "Alright, sir," he began, "what is it you want to order?"

_"Finally,"_ the patron dramatically sighed. "Okay, I'll have an order of chow mein and fried rice, and to start off, a couple of egg rolls and-"

"Ahem, I apologize," Chase interrupted, "but this is an _Italian_ restaurant, sir; we serve _Italian_ cuisine here, such as pasta and risotto, et cetera."

"Yeah, I know," the man replied, sounding as if he were annoyed at the insult to his intelligence, "I'd ordered some of that risotto stuff, but that was _before_ I saw _you_."

Jack had a very _bad_ feeling about this as his lover's face scrunched in confusion and Chase tentatively inquired, "..._me_, sir?"

"Yeah, don't play dumb with me," the man insisted and Jack winced as _precisely_ what he'd dreaded the customer was going to say came out of his mouth, "you're _Chinese_: you can't tell me this place doesn't serve Chinese food."

Chase's jaw literally dropped, his eyes going wide in shock. The same happened to the other restaurant-goers who had been listening to the exchange between the calm, polite waiter and the angry, boisterous man at that point and had likely never heard anything so _racist_ in their entire lives.

For a moment, Chase forgot; forgot how to speak, forgot how to move, forgot how to breathe, forgot how to _think_.

He remembered in the space of a second and with remembrance came _rage_.

Instead of lowering himself to the patron's level, however, to cursing and yelling and mindless insults, Chase remained perfectly calm; _disturbingly_ calm.

"Sir," he began quietly, rolling up his white sleeves primly and properly, "what you have just said to me is not only wrong on a plethora of levels, but is also stereotypical and _highly_ insulting." The man looked as if he was about to reply with a 'so what?' but Chase deftly cut him off. "Unfortunately for you, I just so happen to fit my stereotype in terms of my knowledge of martial arts and my complete willingness to fight for my honor." The customer paled indefinitely when the waiter stepped forward and cracked his knuckles. "Yet _more_ unfortunately, I've no qualms as to using my knowledge to cause you excruciating, life-long pain..."

Precisely fifteen minutes later, the end of Chase's break, an ambulance was stationed outside of the restaurant and paramedics had just finished loading the bloodied and crippled lump of meat that had been the troublesome patron into the vehicle.

Jack stood smirking at the side of his lover as Chase's manager, Marisol, spoke to him very seriously.

"Now the medics have told me he'll definitely live, but that his quality of life is pretty much shot: he'll be Stephen Hawking without the fancy wheelchair until the day he dies." The brunette woman sighed heavily, running a dusky-skinned hand through her hair. "Chase, you could get in serious trouble for this! There were _witnesses_," she gestured to the other restaurant-goers, "you could go to jail!"

The albino snorted, calling Marisol's attention to him. "Yeah, right," he said. "They're on _his_ side; did you not hear them clapping and cheering as Mr. Racist Asshole was getting his ass whooped?"

"No matter _how_ many people were on his side," the woman insisted, "beating someone within an inch of their lives is still a federal offense. You-"

"I apologize for interrupting your meals for a second time tonight," Chase suddenly interjected, addressing the diners, "but would any of you testify against me should that man bring this incident to court?"

"No," a young man assured immediately, "definitely not."

An elderly woman sweetly chimed in with, "You had nothing to do with it, dear."

Yet another patron added, "Yeah, we all saw that 'nondescript maniac' run in off the street and beat him up for no reason."

A chorus of complete agreement sounded throughout the eating establishment at that and Chase smirked, turning back to his manager with a confident gaze.

Marisol blinked her hazel eyes, staring conflictedly at the man who was her very best waiter without a doubt. "Be that as it may..." she slowly conceded, "I'm...afraid I have to fire you for assaulting a customer, no matter how much he deserved it or how much these people and I think you were justified."

Fervent protests came from the patrons of the restaurant, but Chase raised a hand to silence them.

"I understand completely," he spoke with an understanding smile, "company policy and all. It was entirely worth it to see to it that someone so foolish got his comeuppance." The man unclipped his nametag from his vest and handed it to his manager. "I'll be back tomorrow morning to return my uniform and say my goodbyes to the other employees, Marisol."

With that, the dark-haired man turned on his heel and walked away, calling, "Come, Jack, I'm taking you out for a full dinner now that my shift is most definitely over."

The redhead grinned brightly at the prospect and followed his boyfriend out, pausing at the door only to turn to the diners and wave a, "Enjoy your food, guys! Don't worry; I'll blow him after dinner to counteract the 'getting fired' thing!"

Every last patron cheered or made raunchy catcalls as the couple left to enjoy an evening of romantic dining followed by a bedroom romp, glad to see that things had worked out as they should and with all parties getting what they deserved.

In the ambulance, the disruptive patron gave a pained, gurgling moan and made a mental note to _never do something like that again_ as he was rushed off to the nearest hospital, the vehicle's emergency lights a' blazing and the siren a' blaring.

**A/N: So, this was basically inspired by a site of the same name as the title, Not Always Right (Google it if you're curious; can't put links), particularly these two entries:**

--

**We Need One of These in Every Store**

**Employee:** _*making out a rain check*_ "Okay, so I'm just going to look on the computer and check if any other locations have this item."

**Nice customer:** "Okay, thanks."

**Angry customer:** "Stop f***ing socializing and do your g**d*** job!"

**Employee:** "Sir, please don't be abusive, I'm just checking our other loc-"

**Angry customer:** "I don't care! DO YOUR JOB!"

_(At this point, the angry customer moves toward the counter in a very threatening way. The customer behind HIM, a super-fit guy in a UFC jacket, steps in. Mr. UFC grabs the angry customer in a CHOKE HOLD and drags him outside, followed quickly by management, and to the applause of the staff and customers inside the store.)_

_(The angry customer was banned from the store and Mr. UFC got a gift card.)_

_--  
_

**Insert Karate Stereotype Here**

**Customer:** "Miss, do you serve Chinese food at this restaurant?"

**Me:** "Um…no, we serve mainly bar food, hamburgers and that sort of thing."

**Customer, irritated and skeptical, points at one of the servers:** "Yeah, but he's Chinese."

--

**Those were copied and pasted directly from the site, which is, itself, a collection of stories from employees about wacky, amusing, or just plain stupid encounters with customers, and is updated almost daily (with a few, irregular exceptions where they miss a day). It's a great way to kill time, and it's good for some laughs, so I'd suggest going to check it out! Like I said earlier, I can't link anything on this site, so just Google, "Not Always Right," and it should be the very first link that comes up. :3  
**

**Hope you guys liked it! :D**


End file.
